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Expertly you draw an Arrow and take aim at the counter. Seconds later the dwarf appears, his crossbow levelled ready to fire. You loose your bowstring and the Arrow cuts the air, slamming into the leather stirrup at the front of the crossbow and splitting it wide open. It runs the length of the wooden stock and halts barely an inch from the dwarf’s face, its steel tip quivering beneath his nose. His eye regards the deadly point with a look of shocked surprise before rolling up into his head. Seconds later there is a crash of broken glass. The dwarf has keeled over backwards and fallen, unconscious with shock, through the shelves of bottles that line the rear of the bar.
